Page 76 of The Twisted Mark

I shouldn’t be splitting hairs like this, debating what he knew and why he did it. There is no explaining it away, no justification. He hurt me. That’s surely all that matters?

“And then, at the casino, seeing you flipped a switch in my brain. I wanted to be close to you, for you to admit who you were, and for you to stop holding all that glorious power in check.”

“You could have got Connor killed.” I still feel guilty about that little episode. He sure as hell should.

Gabriel shrugs, as though what happens to Connor is neither of our concerns.

“You nearly burnt me out.”

His expression turns more serious. “I miscalculated.”

I clench my teeth. I dread to think what my expression looks like, never mind my eyes. “Miscalculated? Gabriel, I’m not your personal experiment. You can’t hurt me and hope I’ll fight back. You can’t force me into using magic and hope I’ll thrive instead of nearly breaking.”

“I know. And I’m sorry. It just kills me to see you deny your power, deny who you are. It’s so antithetical to everything I was brought up to believe.”

“I only ever stopped using magic because I was so scared of you and your lien. And it’s not the only reason I left this town, but it sure as hell is the reason I didn’t visit my family once in six years.”

I stare out at the horizon. Am I getting through to him? Is he really sorry? Does he understand why so much of what he’s done is so messed up?

“If you’re determined to reel off a list of your sins, let’s move on to Leah,” I say eventually.

He nods. “If you’d asked me not to sleep with anyone else after our night together, I’d have respected your wishes. But you didn’t give any sign of wanting to see me again.”

“Hang on a minute. This isn’t even about me.”

“From my perspective, everything’s about you, to a greater or lesser degree.”

I dig my nails into the leather seats. There’s something worrying in his tone. I’ve always assumed he was toying with me, using me, or slotting me into some wider plan. But the more he tries to apologise and explain, the more obsessed he sounds. Nikki’s warnings seemed melodramatic, but I’m starting to believe he truly thinks he’s in love with me for whatever twisted reason.

“You used Leah. Either to hurt Brendan yet more or to get a rise out of me. Or both.”

“I wouldn’t say I used her. She got exactly what she wanted out of the arrangement. And if not me, she’d have given in to someone else’s charms sooner rather than later. I basically did Brendan a favour, showing him her true colours before the wedding.”

“There’s no point even trying to discuss any of this, is there? You just don’t accept the normal rules apply to you. You’re not apologising. You’re attempting to tell your side of an indefensible story.”

He closes his glowing eyes for a moment. “Okay then. Let me wholeheartedly apologise for something. Putting the bracelets on you. Blocking your power. Sleeping with you while you were blocked. I was so stunned that you’d appeared on my doorstep that I was scared it was a trap. But that’s no excuse. Thatwasindefensible, and I’m sorry.”

He’s a damn good actor, but he sounds so sincere and sad that I reach out on autopilot and touch his arm. “Really? That’s what you feel bad about? It’s not a sensation I’m eager to repeat, but it didn’t do me any harm, and it was a sensible precaution.”

He places his hand on top of mine, not even pretending to be physically driving the car anymore. I hate the fact his touch sends shivers down my arm.

“You don’t understand. Everything else I’ve done, it was about trying to get you to embrace your powers and to want me. I shouldn’t have curtailed your powers even for a moment. And I should have shown I trusted you.”

Presumably, he’s thinking about what his father did to his mother, and how putting the blockers on me was like following in his footsteps. But however honest we’re supposedly being, there’s no way I dare to bring that up.

We drive without exchanging another word for twenty minutes. It’s unclear whether it’s companionable silence despite everything, or whether we’re deliberately not speaking to each other. I should demand he drives me home. Or use magic to get myself out of there. But somehow, I still want to know how the evening is going to go.

* * *

Gabriel pulls into an old-fashioned courtyard and kills the engine.

The hotel and restaurant is low and sprawling, built out of the dark local stone but lightened with pristine white paint around each of the mullioned windows and by copious amounts of flowers. It could be any pretty country pub, but I recognise the name from a few newspaper articles that claimed the food can more than compete with any minimalist London restaurant. I try not to think about the bedrooms.

Gabriel helps me out of the car, takes my arm, and leads me inside, where it’s a perfect combination of cosy and elegant, rural and sophisticated. We’re greeted instantly by beaming waiters. It’s unclear whether they are simply well-trained and gregarious, or whether they’re responding to Gabriel’s charisma and magic. Either way, they show us straight to a linen-covered table tucked away in an alcove by an open fire, which is unlit on this warm summer’s evening but still gives an air of comfort.

We sit next to each other on a long, high-backed bench, facing out onto the garden.

“I’ve ordered the tasting menu,” Gabriel explains. “It’s focused on local food, seasonal produce, and traditional methods. All of which chimes with the way I see the world—there are few things more important than a sense of time and place.”

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